Sherlock: Double ended Melody
by RiverRaieghn
Summary: Mundane-That was the watchword. Charlie's life with New Scotland Yard had been pretty uneventful that was up until the day she moved into 221B Baker Street. Who is Sebastian Moran and what link does he have to the rising crime wave in the city? With the help of Sherlock and John, Charlie and the gang take on their most devious adversary yet and this time no one may survive. R


Mundane...

That was the current state of her job-and her existence. Tedious, dull, and dismal were also a few words that were rattling about as well. Her first week on the job had been wonderful and full of excitement but the more the weeks dragged on the more the excitement dimmed and she once again found herself settling back into the tedium that was her life.

Five in the morning was an ungodly hour for some people but for her it was when she did her best work. She enjoyed being alone and away from the prying eyes of her co-workers. She was still somewhat of a novelty to them, the American working in Scotland Yard; they were still wondering how she got the job. Being a Detective Inspector in a foreign country was quite an achievement.

At the moment, Charlie Cartwright found herself in Scotland Yard's Morgue at St. Bart's staring at the body of a twenty-six year old female who had been shot.

It was a messy shooting.

Amateur hour.

The pale circle around the girl's ring finger told Charlie that was recently divorced or separated and the amount of bullets in the victim told her that it was a very personal shooting. People who killed out of passion were more likely to overkill and since there was a complete magazine emptied into the victim's torso and face, it was definitely personal.

"Have Detective Lestrade take a good look at the husband," She informed the officer that was with her. "He's the one who did it."

The officer gave her a doubtful look.

"And how do you know that?" he questioned her. "You haven't looked at the forensics or anything." Charlie smiled at him.

"I don't need to," she answered. "If Lestrade had any questions he can call me."

"But..." the officer was dumbstruck but Charlie didn't give him time to speak. She was already on her way out the door.

"Charlie!" Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes as Molly came hurrying down the hall towards her. Putting on her best fake smile she greeted Molly who, by the time she reached her, was out of breath.

"Good morning, Molly," She greeted. Molly smiled. "How can I help you?" It took Molly a moment to catch her breath. Charlie tapped her foot impatiently."Did you find a place to live yet?" Molly asked her.

"No, why?"

"A friend of mine...well an acquaintance is more like it," she began. "He has a room available and I told him about you and how you have been here for almost four months and are still staying at that horrible motel down the street and he said that if you wanted to stop by today you can take a look at the room if you like."

Charlie was doubtful. Any friend...or acquaintance of Molly was more than likely to annoy her just as much, if not more, than Molly herself did.

"He is an ex-army doctor. Is working at some clinic now," Molly went on sensing that Charlie was hesitant about the room. "The flat is in central London. 221B Baker Street. He said to stop by around eight or so to take a look."

"What happened to his last roommate?" she inquired, such a central location would have a low turn-over rate unless there was something wrong with the tenant.

"He…Well…" Molly stuttered a bit and Charlie got the idea.

"I will go take a look at it," She relented with a small sigh. She really did need to get out of the rat infested motel she was in. "No need to cry. Sorry about your loss." Charlie strode past Molly after giving her a somewhat awkward pat on the arm, her attempt at empathy. She could hear Molly still sniffling as she walked out the morgue doors.

* * *

221 B Baker Street was a sight to behold. Busy district but centrally located with beautiful architecture. That was one thing she loved about London, England in general actually, the architecture of the buildings were a marvel to look at. Even those severely run down by time.

Charlie took a deep breath trying to calm her nerves. She hadn't had a roommate since college and that hadn't ended so well.

She had decided to go rather casual. A pair of long black leggings paired with a white tunic secured with a black belt to match her black boots and an infinity scarf to add a little bit of color. Her wavy velvet red hair was secured in a side pony tail and she had replaced her stud pearl earrings with a pair of small silver hoops.

Biting her lip, Charlie knocked.

Once. Twice. Three knocks were needed before she heard the scuttling of feet against the floor inside heading towards the door. They were soft steps, one footstep heavier than the other informing her that whoever was on the other side of the door favored that side.

"Coming dear," came the voice within.

_Elderly mothering type._

Charlie clenched her jaw. There was time when she wished she could turn it off. The analyzing. She had done it since she was a child, analyzed people, it came naturally. It also came with a lot of trouble.

The door to the apartment opened revealing a petite elder lady in her mid to late sixties with a graying hair. She seemed to favor right side.

_Hip problems._

"You must be Charlotte,' the lady surmised with a smile. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady."

Charlie put on her best smile.

"It is nice to meet you Mrs. Hudson," She greeted enthusiastically. "Please, call me Charlie."

"Do come in," Mrs. Hudson ushered her into the entrance hallway. "You'll catch cold."

"This is very nice, Mrs. Hudson," She looked around in awe. It was just as beautiful on the inside as it had been on the outside.

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson blushed. "The man you are looking for is just up those stairs. Feel free to head on up."

"Thank you."

Slowly she crept up the carpeted stairwell to the upstairs apartment.

The door was open.

It wasn't what she expected. She imagined an ex-army doctor being more cleanly in his housekeeping but that isn't exactly what Charlie saw. Stacks of papers were littered everywhere. A bright yellow smiley face stood out against the flowered wall paper. She could see evidence of bullet holes littering the wall against the fireplace.

The fireplace was decorated with a skull.

The kitchen was the cleanliest part of the apartment thus far. A laboratory kit was spread out on the kitchen table but everything else had been tidied and put away all neat like.

"Hello."

A startled gasp escaped her lips as she turned to face the unexpected voice that had silently approached her from behind. Unlike Mrs. Hudson, she hadn't heard any footsteps from him at all. Not unexpected for an ex-soldier.

He was clean cut and tried to stand tall but Charlie could see the slight slump in his shoulders. A sign of grief or depression.

_Grief._

She remembered Molly sobbing about the man who used to live here. Charlie looked at the man again, Dr. Watson, and then back at the surroundings of the apartment.

This wasn't his stuff. Not all of it anyways. He was still holding on to the belongings of his dead friend.

"Hello Dr. Watson," Charlie held her hand out. "I'm Charlie Cartwright."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Cartwright," He reciprocated her greeting. "Don't be put off by the mess; I just haven't had time to go through these things. The clinic has been rather busy."

"Not at all," Charlie dismissed it. She really didn't mind all that much, the clutter felt well organized for being…well clutter. "Thank you for offering me the chance to see the flat.'

"You're American," Dr. Watson pointed out as he headed for the kitchen. "Molly said you came from…New York?" Charlie smiled.

"Yes," She followed a step or two behind him, stopping at the doorway of the kitchen as he busied himself making tea.

"Why did you decide to move to London?"

"Molly did not tell you?"

This surprised Charlie.

"No," Dr. Watson shook his head smiling. "Just said you were from New York, had been here for a while and were living in some god awful motel."

Amusement graced her smile.

"It is god awful," she affirmed. Watson smiled.

"I work as a detective for New Scotland Yard," She informed him accepting the tea he offered her they sat down.

"Really?" He looked surprised.

"I have a bit of a knack for analyzing," she explained. "I provide a fresh look to things that are normally overlooked.'

She could see the Doctor's jaw clench.

"I see," he was trying to hide whatever memories were bubbling to the surface but Charlie could tell he was upset. Not at her, just in general.

"Your last roommate was Sherlock Holmes, right?" She asked. "He was a consulting detective?"

Watson's tea cup hit the saucer a little harder than necessary.

"Yes," He said tensely. "He was great at seeing things that no one else saw. Bloody amazing, what he did, if you ask me."

"I know," Charlie admitted. "Detective Lestrade told me about him after Molly informed me you were looking for a roommate."

"I see."

"I hope that won't change things, Dr. Watson," Charlie bit her lip. "I am rather quiet and I keep to myself for the most part."

Watson got up from his chair and headed back into the kitchen. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. His shoulders were tense and hunched over, he was definitely battling with something.

When he turned around there was a smile on his face.

"Please, call me John," His smile broadened as he handed her a plate of scones. "Flat mates should be on a first name basis."

Charlie smiled and accepted the plate of piping hot scones gratefully.

* * *

More than two weeks had passed since she had moved into 221 B Baker street and in that time she had fallen into routine.

She hated routines really.

The fact that she had fallen into one so quickly spoke volumes about the current state of her life.

Mundane.

That was still the watchword. John seemed to be content in the life he had picked up since the death of Sherlock Holmes. He seemed to spend more time with his girlfriend Sarah than at the apartment which left Charlie open to spring clean when boredom arose.

John didn't seem to mind. Apparently her spring cleaning Sherlock's possessions was a bit of relief off his shoulders and he found it much better than having her shoot the wall or paint a smiley face on it in bright yellow paint.

At the current moment she was tossing and turning over her new case. She couldn't put her finger on what she was missing. She had been over every piece of evidence, every scrap of fabric and hair. Hell, she had even looked at the forensics, which as usual told her nothing more than the obvious-

Anderson was an idiot.

Within the past week more than four women had been murdered. She couldn't seem to find any connection. They crossed all over the place. Varying ages, races, and occupations. Different social circles and income index. It almost seemed as if she had more than one killer on her hand but she knew better than that. This was one killer-one killer trying two outwit her by trying to choose random victims.

"There was no such thing as random," she whispered to herself.

"How very astute of you."

Charlie bolted up in bed reaching for her cell phone on the bedside table but it wasn't there, neither was her gun

"Are you looking for these?" the voice drifted from the corner of her bedroom, sitting regally in her over sized arm chair, holding her gun and iPhone in their air for her to see. Panic rose in her chest as he heart thudded away like a jack hammer.

Charlie's eyes bounced back and forth from the door to the intruder, her brain trying to measure whether or not she could make it.

She dove off the bed towards the door, ignoring any warning her brain was shooting off at her, she should have listened to it. The intruder snatched her waist mid air and threw her back towards the bed. Charlie landed in a heap of blankets and pillows on the other side, her head cracked against the wall, causing her vision to blur.

"Now why would you go and do a thing like that?" Tsked the intruder. "Here I am trying to be nice and hospitable and you try to run away."

Charlie was still fighting off the dim haze of unconsciousness.

"What do you want?" She managed to ask through the shooting pain that had spread to her neck.

Just what she needed.

"You're getting too close, Detective," The voice whispered in her ear. Charlie jumped at his sudden closeness. She hadn't noticed that he had moved in so close. "They warned me you were good. I guess I should have listened." He grabbed her arms and dragged her on her feet pulling her tight against his body.

"You're the one killing those women," Charlie whispered, blinking away the dots that floated across her vision. She didn't feel so well.

"Gold star!"

"This was foolish of you," She kept going as he led her out of the apartment and down the stairs. Keeping her voice low as not to wake Mrs. Hudson. She didn't want to get her killed because she caused a scene. "Killing a detective is going to get you noticed in a big way and that is something I don't think you want. Is it?"

She could feel the intruder smile.

"It is such a waste," He mused picking her up bridal style once they reached the street. Charlie could feel the winter breeze on her bare skin. If she would have known a deranged serial killer would be making a house call she would have worn something other than a silk nightgown.

"And ironic," he added. "The great American detective working at Scotland Yard and living in the exact same room at the notorious Sherlock Holmes. If Moriarty were still alive he would love it."

Charlie stopped listening. She was concentrating. Not just on staying conscious but on him. He was a well built man. She could tell by the way he carried her, barely any noticeable strain. He held himself erect which meant he was well brought up. She couldn't smell any cologne just the faint scent of something that smelled like sandalwood.

"Just wait," she whimpered as he set her down against the brick wall of the alley behind the apartment. He was going to kill in the exact way he had killed his other victims.

One cut to her carotid artery and then he would watch her bleed out on the cold pavement.

"Here we go, Detective," he smirked pulling out a double edged blade from his pocket. "Nothing personal but my boss doesn't really need you mucking about in our business."

"Don't," She pleaded, terror in her voice.

"Such a waste," he whispered heatedly. "You're much better than those whores."

Charlie whimpered. He backed her up against the alley wall running the blade up her arm towards her neck.

"Please," She begged. She had never felt more defenseless in her life. She had been trained to deal with thugs and criminals. Self-defense classes were mandatory at New Scotland Yard but she had never really taken to them.

"Begging doesn't work with me, my dear," He assured her. "I like to hear them beg."

He drew the knife up to her neck, the point cutting into the skin just enough to make her bleed. She closed her eyes against the pain, blocking out the pleasure he was getting from seeing her suffer.

"Such a waste," he whispered again. The blade moved away from her throat, she knew what was coming next.

Three shots rang out.

She let out a scream when she heard the shots. For a moment she thought he had shot her with her own gun. Charlie opened her eyes to find him crumpled on the ground and without his weight to support her, her legs gave way beneath her.

It hurt to swallow. She tried her best to bit back the tears that were streaming down her face because the point where his blade had cut her neck was throbbing. She could tell she had lost a good quantity of blood.

Darkness danced at the edge of her vision, her eyelids were heavy and all she wanted to do was close them. She could barely move.

Footsteps echoed down the alley. Charlie tried to speak but nothing came out. It hurt too much to talk. Her body felt like it had been run through the ringer and hung out to dry.

She let her eyes close not caring about the person she knew was approaching. Charlie felt hands run along her arms and her head, assessing for damage. The next thing she knew she was being carried in someone else's arms. Just as strong as her assailants but gentle and softer.

Charlie tried to speak. Anything would have helped her but her savior shushed her.

"Don't speak," He whispered. "You will injure yourself further." She didn't argue. Instead she let the black of unconsciousness sweep her away.

**I hope you liked it. First Sherlock Fic. Since Season 3 isn't coming out until January 1 It won't really be along that story line. I might incorporate some of the later stories of Season 3 but obviously not the beginning. Well, thanks for reading. Please review. **


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